•  ORD 


LIBRARY 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 

^ 

Class 


DORIAN  DAYS 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK    •    BOSTON    •    CHICAGO 
ATLANTA  •    SAN   FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  LIMITED 

LONDON  •    BOMBAY  •    CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  LTD. 

TORONTO 


DORIAN    DAYS 


POEMS 


BY 

WENDELL   PHILLIPS   STAFFORD 


Nefo  garfe 
THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

1909 

*• 

All  rights  reserved 


GENERAL 

COPYRIGHT,  1909, 
BY  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 

Set  up  and  elcctrotyped.    Published  December,  1909. 


Norbaoti 

J.  8.  Cushing  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith  Co, 
Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE  BELVEDERE  APOLLO 

THE  SINGING  OF  ORPHEUS 

THE  PLAYING  OF  MARSYAS 16 

ACTION  AT  THE  BATH  OF  ARTEMIS     ...  32 

EURYLOCHUS  TRANSFORMED 36 

THE  DEATH  OF  HELEN 46 

AMONG  THE  GRECIAN  MARBLES     ....  53 

THE  VENUS  OF  MELOS 55 

ATHENS  AND  SPARTA 58 

THE  RETURN  TO  NATURE       ....        o  60 

KEATS 62 

THE  BETROTHAL 64 

THE  MUSE  OF  PARADOX 65 

THE  REASON 66 

THE  SISTINE  MADONNA 67 

THE  FAIRY  KERCHIEF 69 

ON  A  PICTURE 71 

v 


194242 


vi  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

BEHOLD  THE  DAY 73 

LOVE  RESURGENT 75 

LOVE'S  TESTAMENT 77 

GUINEVERE'S  DEFENCE 79 

SEPTEMBER  IN  THE  NORTH 81 

OF  PETRARCH 85 

DISMISSING  THE  MUSE     ......  87 

THE  SONG  OF  THE  FATES 89 

CONSULTING  THE  DAISY 94 

SEPTEMBER  THE  ELEVENTH 95 

INSCRIPTION  FOR  A  FIREPLACE       ....  96 

PAOLO  AND  FRANCESCA 97 

BESIDE  THE  MARK 98 

"BEYOND  THE  SUNSET" 99 

MEN'S  JUDEX 102 

NEW  YORK 104 

VIXIMUS 106 

LOVE  ROYAL 107 

GLORIA  VICTIS 108 

THE  FORECAST 110 

F.   S.   S.  Ill 


DORIAN  DAYS 


OF   THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


DORIAN  DAYS 

THE  BELVEDERE  APOLLO 

WHEN  God  lets  loose  in  eastern  sky 

The  arrows  of  the  dawn, 
Who  now  beholds  the  hand  whereby 

The  splendid  bow  is  drawn?  — 

The  lucent  forehead  crowned  with  curls 
Brighter  than  gold  may  be; 

The  mantle  thrown  in  silver  swirls 
Leaving  the  shoulder  free! 


2  THE  BELVEDERE  APOLLO 

One  saw;  and  left  for  us  to  mark, 

In  every  marble  line, 
The  light  triumphant  o'er  the  dark, 

On-coming  day  divine. 

See,  on  the  god's  indignant  brow 
The  wrath  has  all  but  died; 

The  hand  that  drew  the  string  but  now 
Is  falling  at  his  side. 

Soon  all  the  passion  stern  and  proud 

In  that  majestic  mien 
Will  vanish  like  a  little  cloud 

Into  the  sun  serene. 


THE  BELVEDERE  APOLLO  3 

The  sculptor  —  from  an  unknown  grave 

His  nameless  dust  is  blown; 
But  men  of  latest  time  will  save 

This  one  immortal  stone. 

And  when  all  hearts  exalt  the  lord 

Of  light  and  liberty, 
All  eyes  will  turn  with  one  accord, 

Transcendent  shape,  to  thee! 


THE  SINGING  OF  ORPHEUS 

(ON  HIS  RETURN  FROM  HADES) 

HE  came  with  mane  unshorn,  — 
Curls  colored  like  the  morn, 
With   god-bewildered    eyes    and    brow 

impending; 

He  leaned  his  harp  of  gold 
Where  rivers  manifold 
Leaped  in  one  shining  shaft,  seaward 

descending; 
Then  stretched  the  cords  and  made  his  mantle 

slack; 

The  night-shapes  cowered  at  his  feet,  the 
sun  rose  at  his  back. 

4 


THE  SINGING  OF  OEPHEUS  5 

Murmuring  mystic  things, 

He     touched     the     strange-voiced 

strings, 
Waking  with  trembling  art  the  strains 

of  wonder,  — 

Language  of  paws  and  wings, 
Song  the  insensate  sings, 
The    dove's    glad    moan,    the    jungle's 

throated  thunder; 
Round  him  the  thickets  stirred  and  eye-balls 

gleamed; 

Once  the  lone  eagle,  poised  on  high,  caught 
his  war-note  and  screamed. 


6  THE  SINGING  OF  OEPHEUS 

Still,  as  the  music  rose 
Sweeter  at  every  close,  — 
Blended  the  glee  and  pain,  love  and  rage 

blended,  - 

Nearer  the  wood-bird  hid, 
Nearer  the  bright  snake  slid, 
Nearer   with  quivering  nose  the  hare 

attended, 

Nearer  and  lowlier  yet  the  leopard  shied 
Till  one  bare  foot  was  cushioned  soft  upon 
her  spotted  side. 

Parting  the  fountain's  sedge, 
Close  at  its  oozy  edge, 


THE  SINGING   OF  ORPHEUS  7 

With    wet-lashed,    wondering    eyes,    a 

naiad  peeped; 
Deep  in  the  dewy  wood, 
Drunk  with  the  music's  mood, 
Crowned  with  gay  flowers    the  satyrs 

laughed  and  leaped; 

Off  sped  a  faun  to  bring  the  Bacchic  crew; 
For  well  they  loved  the  cheerful  strain,  and 
well  their  love  he  knew. 

No  voice  of  hound  or  horn 
Roused  the  wild  boar  that  morn, 
Crunching  the  night-dropt  mast  in  sloth 
he  fed; 


8  THE  SINGING  OF  OEPHEUS 

Upon  the  windy  down, 
In  perilous  ways  unknown 
The    woolly   tribes    wandered   unshep- 

herded; 
Hither  with  wreathed   spears  the  hunters 

fare; 

To  hear  sweet  praise  of  Pan  to-day  is  all  the 
shepherds'  care. 

He  sang  the  heavenly  mirth, 
Pang  of  the  planet's  birth, 
Primordial  melody,  chaos  surceasing,  — 
Why  the  dear  daylight  dies, 
Why  the  clear  stars  arise, 


TEE  SINGING   OF  ORPHEUS  9 

Why  through  the  amber  night  the  moon 

increasing 
Leads  on  the  black  sea-wall  her  white-maned 

tides 
Till  the  breath  of  their  nostrils  is  vainly 

blown  high  on  its  thundering 

sides : 

How  the  earth  came  to  be 

Pregnant  with  deity, 
Peopling  the  purple  air,  the  waters  wan; 

How,  ages  out  of  thought, 

By  very  gods  forgot, 
When    Heaven    and   Earth    embraced, 
Titanic  man 


10  THE  SINGING   OF  ORPHEUS 

Sprang  from  their  monstrous  clasp  a  demi 
god— 

His  eyes  were  like  the  lightning,  in  his  feet 
the  lion  trod: 

How  from  the  throned  skies 
Fell  the  old  deities; 
How  the  hoar  temple  and  star-pasturing 

plain 

From  Saturn's  sceptre  passed, 
And  quarrels  new  and  vast 
Sundered   and   shook   his   once   serene 

domain; 
And  unremembered  odes  of  joy  and  love 


THE  SINGING  OF  OEPHEUS  11 

Ere  any  shadow  fell  from  heaven,  or  any  fear 
of  Jove: 

Sang  the  weird  sisters  three 
With  eyes  fixed  constantly, 
With  mutterings  hoarse  and  horrid  un 
dertone; 

One  twirls  the  spindle,  one 
Leads  the  thread,  thinly  spun, 
Between  the  gaping  shears;  the  eldest 

crone, 
Blind  hearkener  for  the  doom's  accomplished 

round, 

Breaks  off  the  hum  whene'er  she   lists  to 
give  the  clacking  sound. 


12  THE  SINGING  OF  OBPHEUS 

He  sang  the  love-god  great,  — 
How  Jove  forsook  his  seat, 
In  low  disguise,  for  love  of  mortal  maid; 
How,  through  the  pine-glooms,  Pan 
His  love's  white  feet  outran, 
What  turns  she  took,  what  bounds  the 

goat-thighs  made; 

How  fleet  Apollo  clasped  the  loveless  tree, 
And  how  Tithonus  pines  in  heaven,  aging 
immortally. 

To  tenderer  strains  he  wed 
Man's  joy  and  drearihead,  — 
Lethean  birth,  and  boyhood's  prescient 
bloom, 


THE  SINGING  OF  ORPHEUS  13 

Love's  sweet  disquietude, 
The  mid-life  sweat  and  feud, 
Then  age  that  looks  aback  and  gather 
ing  gloom, 

At  last  the  wailing  ones  in  circling  file, 
And  dust  enough  to  fill  an  urn  raked  from 
the  smouldering  pile. 

In  tearful  tones  and  slow 

He  taught  them  all  his  woe; 
Again,  in  dead  domains,  he  saw  his  bride; 

Hell  followed  his  lament, 

Cerberus  fawning  bent, 
And  Pluto  wept  the  woes  of  mortal-tide: 


14  THE  SINGING  OF  OEPHEUS 

Proserpina  leaned  from  her  glimmering  car 
Reining    the    shadowy    pards  —  her    smile 
beamed  like  a  dying  star. 

Back  through  blind  ways  he  pressed, 
Heeding  the  hard  behest, 
Nor  once  looked  round  threading    the 

ghostly  grove, 

But  on  Hell's  threshold  sheer 
Her  foot  he  failed  to  hear,  - 
Turned,  —  Hermes  touched  her,  and  in 

vain  she  strove; 

The  great  gates  shuddered  to  with   mighty 
moan, 


THE  SINGING  OF  OBPHEUS  15 

And  up  along  his  darkling  path  he  sought  the 
light  —  alone! 

Along  the  forest-side 
The  stringed  murmurs  died; 
He  loosed  the  cords  and  made  his  mantle 

fast; 

With  low  and  leaden  pace, 
And  glory-faded  face, 
Down  the  green  alleys  from  their  sight 

he  passed. 

The  swain  bethought  him  of  his  sheep  astray, 
And  toward  her  lair,  with  side-long  look,  the 
leopard  loped  away. 


THE  PLAYING  OF  MARSYAS 

(A  FAUN'S  ACCOUNT   OF    THE    CONTEST  BE 
TWEEN    THE    SATYR   AND    APOLLO) 

ALACK!  give  way!     Pan,  Pan,  I  bring  thee 

news,  — 
Oh,  sadder  than  the  forest  ever  heard! 

Now  running  through  five    green,    bough- 
shadowed  miles, 

I  have  not  wet  my  lips  in  any  brook, 
Nor  pried  for  honey  in  one  hollow  trunk, 

16 


THE  PLAYING   OF  MAESTAS  17 

Nor  hearkened  when  the  hamadryads  called, 
Although  three  times,  at  least,  the  wind  has 

flown 

Heavy  with  laughter  right  across  my  path. 
So  far  and  fast  I  flew  to  tell  thee,  Pan, 
That  thou  wilt  never  smile  again  to  hear 
Sweet  pipings  rising  with  the  rising  dawn, 
Sweet  pipings  dying  with  the  dying  day, 
For  Marsyas  is  no  more,  your  joy  is  dead! 

Weep  not  for   Marsyas  now,  an  hour  will 

come 

For  sorrow-piercing  wail  —  another  tree 
Must  be  encircled  when  the  hoofed  beat 


18  THE  PLAYING   OF  MAESYAS 

Shall  make  sad  rhythm  on  the  sullen  sod, 
And  I  must  teach  you  tears.    Ah  me!    Ah 
me! 

O  Pan,  it  is  the  dark  enormous  oak 
That  leans  with  one  foot  on  the  sunny  verge 
Of  that  gloom-girdled  lawn  where  dozy  bees 
String  all  the  summer  length  of  golden  hours 
On  the  unbroken  murmur  of  their  song. 
'Twas  there  we  met,  and  Marsyas  played 

while  we 

Wove  all  our  fleeting  circles  in  and  out 
That  no  unwonted  step  amid  the  maze 
Might  mar  the  grace  of  thy  solemnities. 


THE  PLAYING   OF  MARSYAS  19 

Meantime  from  every  vale  unvisited 

By     Phoebus'     wain,     from     deep-boughed 

silences, 
Unfooted    paths    where-through  the    swart 

flowers  press, 

And  secret  sobbing-places  of  the  sea, 
They  thronged  to  hear  his  pipings. 

All  at  once 

It  was  dead  silence,  like  the  dead  of  night 
Just  when  the  owl  will  split  it  with  his  cry. 
Just  like  the  screech-owPs  was  that  voice  we 

heard 

Calling  on  Phoebus  to  bring  down  his  lyre 
And  shame  our  Marsyan  music.     'Twas  a 

faun, 


20  THE  PLAYING  OF  MAESYAS 

But  no  one  ever  saw  his  face  before 

Nor  knew  what  forest  claimed  him.     Marsyas 

cried, 
"The  string  may  lull  the  languid  ears    of 

heaven  — 
Pan's  own  breath  fills  the  reed!"     Before 

'twas  said 

The  zenith  lightened  with  the  coming  god 
And  there  Apollo  stood,  and  all  the  grass 
Grew  golden  round  his  sandals. 

Then,  O  Pan, 
All  things  swam  round  me,  but  I  heard  a 

noise, 
Two  warring  voices  like  two  headlong  streams, 


THE 

I   UNIVERSITY 

OF 


PLAYING  OF  MAESYAS  21 

Meeting  and  mingling  in  one  mighty  oath 
To  have  their  strife  before  the  woods  that  day 
And  let  the  vanquished  bide  the  victor's  will. 

So  Marsyas  climbed  the  cliff  a  little  way 
And  found  a  jutting  seat  and  dropped  his 

face 

Till  the  abundant  shadow  of  his  hair 
Buried  the  sacred  reed  and  both  his  hands. 
Long  time  he  sat  as  if  he  only  slept, 
And  quiet  settled  till  no  sound  was  heard 
But  one  bold  cricket  piping  in  the  leaves. 

At  first,  far  off,  a  billowy  night-wind  rose 
And  died  away  among  the  dreamy  boughs. 


22  THE  PLAYING  OF  MARSYAS 

How  sweet  it  seemed  to  slumber,  with  the  lids 
Almost  together,  —  just  to  see  the  light] 
And  doubt  if  we  were  dreaming!     Sweeter 

still 

To  be  awakened  when  the  waking  birds 
Sung  all  our  eyes  wide  open,  and  the  dawn 
Shook  all  her  flowers  above  us. 

Rarest  sport 
Was  on,  that  morning;   there  were  hares  to 

rout, 
And  mushrooms,  the  white  blossoms  of  the 

dark, 

To  pelt  the  dryads;  there  were  acorn-cups 
ith  just  a  bright  swallow  of  dew  in  each, 


THE  PLAYING  OF  MAESTAS  23 

And  hoard  of  golden  honey  in  the  heart 
Of  the  night-fallen  oak. 

That  was  a  day 

The  forest-children  doomed  to  endless  mirth. 
Still  was  the  squirrel  chiding;  all  day  long 
The   frogs   were   clamorous   in   the    plashy 

swamp ; 

All  day,  above  the  height,  the  eagle  flew 
In  screaming  circles  round  her  nest ;  far  down, 
A  dark  ravine  sloped  to  the  tangled  East 
Where  tawny  lions,  treading  to  and  fro, 
Thundered;  and  ever  as  the  day  flew  on 
Faster  and  faster  flew  the  merriment 
Till  all  the  woods  were  reeling  in  one  dance 


24  THE  PLAYING   OF  MAESYAS 

And  every  voice  was  music !     That  was  when 

The  sun  paused  brightly  over  Pelion. 

But    then    the    purple-shadowed    Evening 

came 

And  all  the  forest  ways  grew  pensive,  hushed, 
And  all  our  musings  grew  a  little  sad, 
But   sweeter   for   the   sadness,  —  ah,    more 

sweet 
Than  maddest  merry-making! 

Pan,  is  pain 

Only  a  pleasure  we  are  yet  to  learn? 
For  we  were  minded  of  all  tearful  songs, 
All  tender  stories;  even  then  we  wept 
At  thy  lost  race  for  Syrinx  and  the  reed 


THE  PLAYING   OF  MAESYAS  25 

That  broke  within  thy  bosom!     So  again 
Immortal  Night  came  down;    the  billowy 

wind 

Arose  and  died  among  the  dreamy  boughs; 
And  quiet  settled  till  no  sound  was  heard 
But  that  bold  cricket  piping  in  the  leaves. 

Oh,  all  the  forest  folk  were  laughing  then, 
And  Marsyas  smiled. 

Apollo  sat  apart 

Under  the  oak  and  drew  a  golden  thing 
Out  of  his  mantle,  curved  like  the  horns 
The  oxen  wear;    and  it  had  strings    that 
glanced 


26  THE  PLAYING   OF  MABSYAS 

Like  lines  of  sun-lit  rain.     He  whispered  it 
And   busied   with   the    strings   till   all   was 

still, 

And  then  the  little  wavelets  of  sweet  sound 
Ran  from  his  finger-ends  till  every  one 
Was  over-happy  in  his  heart  to  call 
The  contest  even.     But  'twas  not  to  be; 
For  the  white  lily  of  Apollo's  throat 
Grew  a  great  rose  of  wrath.     Now  as   he 

struck 
The  ringing  chords  he  let  his  proud  lips  part. 

Oh,  Pan!  Pan!  Pan! 

What  pleasure  now  was  in  Athene's  reed? 
What  pleasure  now  was  in  Apollo's  lyre? 


THE  PLAYING   OF  MARSYAS  27 

As,  when  the  first  puff  of  the  winter  wind 
Takes  by  the  top  our  tallest  mountain  tree 
And  loosens  all  his  leaves  of  ruddy  gold, 
One  shower  unintermitted  falls  and  falls, 
So  fell  in  Phoebus'  breath  the  golden  words 
Till  Marsyas  smiled  no  longer. 

First  he  hymned 

The  untimed  chaos  and  beginning  dark, 
And  Fate  before  and  midst  and  after  all. 
No  curled-up  worm  escapes  it;    Zeus,   all- 
feared, 
Sceptred  with  lightning,  is  its  loud-tongued 

slave,  - 
Eternal  consequence  the  frame  of  things. 


28  THE  PLAYING   OF  MARSYAS 

Then  how  the  heavens  emerged,  the  earth 

became; 

Old  starry  legends  of  forgotten  gods, 
Defeated  fames  and  unveiled  virgin  loves, 
Ere  Saturn's  long-lost  wars.     And  then  he 

sang 

What  things  he  sees  as  he  leans  halfway  o'er 
Reining  the  horse  of  heaven.     Far  down, 

between 
Their  flying,  flashing  hooves  and  the  burning 

wheels, 
He  sees   Olympus   crowned  with    gleaming 

courts ; 
Temples   and   dwellings   of  wide-wandering 

men 


THE  PLAYING   OF  MAKSYAS  29 

Gray  deserts  drear  and  endless,  glad,  green 

woods; 

And,  rising  on  broad  elbows,  limbs  outflung, 
The  river-bearing  mountains,  mighty-zoned; 
Then  coiling,  blue-scaled  ocean,  verge  of  all. 
Overhead  he  sees  the  gold- winged  swarming 

worlds; 

He  sees  beyond  the  bourn  of  palest  stars; 
He  sees  the  trail  of  every  birth  and  death,  - 
Old  Hades  in  the  womb  of  maiden  time; 
Whatever  was  or  is  or  is  to  be. 
All  you  have  done  to  Marsyas  do  to  me, 
0  sweetly  cruel  god,  and  more  beside, 
Only  unroll  the  long,  gold  song  again! 


30  THE  PLATING  OF  MARSTAS 

There  was  rich  laughter  now  —  but  far  away, 
As  far  off  as  Olympus.     Marsyas'  lips 
Were  white  —  he  clutched  the  reed.     The 

song-voice  said: 

"  Now  I  am  going  to  my  sun-bright  house  — 
When  I  have  flayed  him  here  and  hung  the 

fell 

Where  all  may  see  how  fine  a  thing  it  is 
To  strive  with  the  undying  gods."     He  drew 
Three    long    red    osiers    from    the    naiad's 

hands  - 

Quick  to  the  shaggy  oak  he  bound  him  fast. 
I  only  lingered  till  the  river  of  pain 
Broke,  the  first  ripple,  over  Marsyas'  face  - 
Oh,  keep  us,  keep  us,  Pan!    The  tale  is  told. 


THE  PLAYING   OF  MARSYAS  31 

So  the  tale  faltered  to  its  tragic  close. 
But  where  Apollo  hung  the  hairy  fell 
A  river  issued,  and  to  deep-leaved  boughs 
Murmurs  the  Marsyan  music  evermore. 


ACTION  AT  THE  BATH  OF 
ARTEMIS 

MY  dogs  outran  me.     I  could  hear  the  boar 
Crashing  through  rushes  inaccessible 
Beyond  Peneus.     So  I  lay  and  breathed 
In  that  deep-cloven  glen  where  the  stream 

whirls 
Three  times  within  the  cave-god's  clinging 

arms 
Ere  she  escapes  him. 

Listening,  first  I  heard 
A  breeze-like  motion  rippling  up  the  leaves, 

32 


ACTION  AT  THE  BATH  OF  ARTEMIS     33 

Then  sounds  that  followed,  like  spent  hill- 
winds,  close 

And  quick  with  panting  speed,  —  next  saw 
her  come 

Pausing  mid-flight  with  leash  of  lolling  hounds 

And  startled  backward  glance. 

Watching  her  dogs 

Take   the   cool    current   on   their   dripping 
tongues, 

Once  —  twice  —  she  peered  above  the  pool, 
then  droopt, 

Leaning  along  the  mosses. 

Lingeringly 

Her  fingers  let  the  loosened  sandals  fall. 


34     ACTION  AT  THE  BATH  OF  ARTEMIS 

One  hand,  slow,  as  in  dream,  sought  the  great 

pearl 
That  clasped  her  zone;    her  eyes  were  far 

away. 
But  when  she  stood,  and,  with  white  elbows 

arched 

Above  her  brow,  drew  up  from  shaded  ears 
And  lily-slender  neck  her  heavy  hair, 
Braiding  the  gold  of  one  reluctant  lock, 
The  girdle  gave.     Softly  the  thin-spun  robe 
Slipped  o'er  the  crescent  bosom,  sank  and 

left 
The    twin    breasts    bare,  —  two    white-rose 

buds,  unblown 


ACTION  AT  THE  BATH  OF  ARTEMIS     35 

But  swollen  with  the  sweetness  of  the  spring. 
Then  the  long  curve  and  slope  of  glimmering 

limbs 
Broke  on  me,  and  I  rest  not  from  that  hour. 

Are  there  no  springs  upon  Olympus-side 
Where  the  immortal  shapes  may  bathe  and 

leave 

No  memory  to  unman  the  mortal  sight, 
But  they  must  feel  our  streams  and  we  must 

die? 


EURYLOCHUS  TRANSFORMED 

(According  to  Homer,  Ulysses,  coming  to  the 
island  of  Circe,  divided  his  band:  one  half 
remained  at  the  ship,  the  other,  led  by  Eury- 
lochus,  entered  the  palace  of  Circe,  where 
all,  save  their  leader,  partaking  of  the  feast, 
were  transformed  to  swine.  In  the  following 
modification  of  the  legend,  Eurylochus  him 
self  is  supposed  to  have  undergone  the  trans 
formation,  and  to  have  spoken  these  words 
before  and  in  the  course  of  it.) 

DIVINE  or  human,  by  whatever  name 
Mortals  or  gods  have  named  thee,  I  salute,  - 

36 


EURTLOCHUS   TRANSFORMED  37 

With  reverence  I  salute  thee,  I  alone. 

They  that    be  with  me   stay  without  the 

porch,  - 

Half  of  their  number;  but  the  other  half 
Are  sitting  with  Ulysses  at  the  oars. 
For,  following  still  that  much-enduring  man, 
By  many  oarless  waters  we  have  come, 
Dim  coasts,  and  islands  with  far-shadowing 

peaks, 

And  moving  floods  from  the  dark  wilderness, 
And  one  Infernal  gulf  in  thundering  seas. 
And  we  have  met  with  monsters,  men  like 

beasts; 
Centaurs,  that,  issuing  from  the  caverned 

hills, 


38  EUEYLOCHUS   TEANSFOBMED 

Eyed  us  unmovingly;  Lotophagi; 

And  Cyclops  who  devoured  us  day  by  day. 

And  some  have  met  us  on  the  brink  with 

blows, 

And  some  with  smiles,  and  after  that  betrayed, 
Not   knowing   Zeus   to    be   the    stranger's 

friend. 
And  some  have  paid  us   honors   like   the 

gods, 
Wine,     and    the    sacrifice,    and    song    of 

bards, 

And  gifts  at  parting.     For  this  cause  I  stand 
Alone    to    learn    what    welcome    waits    us 

here. 


EURYLOCHUS  TRANSFORMED  39 

(Circe  having  answered  and  offered  him 
the  cup,  he  proceeds.) 

Thy  words  were  gracious,  had  thy  looks  not 

made 

All  words  superfluous.     But  keep  thy  cup! 
It  were  not  fitting  that  my  lips  should  wear 
The  wine-stain,  goddess,  while  Ulysses7  ears 
Thirst  for  these  tidings.     Give  me  leave!  .  .  . 

No  more; 

I  yield.     And,  first  of  all,  I  spill  to  thee 
The  bright  libation;  never  one  so  bright 
Since  that  old  morn  when,  in  the  sacred  bowl, 
At  Aulis,  peering,  I  beheld  a  face 


40  EUEYLOCHUS  TRANSFORMED 

New-bearded  and  with  wide,  forth-looking 

eyes, 

While  near  at  hand  the  smitten  oxen  moaned, 
Greece  waited,  breathless,  for  the  oracle, 
Far  off  the  seamen  called,  and  on  my  cheek 
I  felt  the  breezes  favoring  for  Troy. 

(He  drinks.) 

Bacchus!    What  vine  has  bled  into  thy  cup? 
I  see  the  things  that  have  been  and  shall 

be,  — 
The  gods,  the  earth-born  race,  the  brood  of 

Hell. 
Ah  me!  the  pain!  the  quest  without  an  end! 


EUBTLOCHUS   TRANSFORMED  41 

For,  doubtless,  one  in  after-time  will  say: 
Eurylochus  came  once  to  Circe's  house, 
Seeking  the  day  of  his  return  from  Troy. 
Then  all  the  rest  watched  through  the  stormy 

night, 

But  these  reclined  at  the  ambrosial  feast. 
He  told  her  all  the  travail  they  had  borne: 
She  gave  him  of  the  cup  that  loosens  care. 
So  one  will  speak,  weaving  a  winter's  tale. 
Thou  wilt  be  gladdening  others  with  thy 

smiles, 
But  I  shall  lie  in  earth  in  alien  land. 

Sweet  are  the  lips  of  music,  ever  sweet,  — 
Sweeter  to  ears  weary  of  wind  and  wave. 


42  EUEYLOCRUS  TRANSFORMED 

Soft  hands!    white  arms!    Why  should  we 

rise  at  all? 

The  gods  rise  not;  prone  at  perpetual  feasts, 
On  sloping  elbows  they  survey  the  world. 
Why  do  we  work,  knowing  no  work  remains? 
Nothing  abides;  our  very  sorrows  fade, 
Lest  life  should  be  made  noble  by  despair. 
No  new  fire-stealer  will  high  Zeus  endure, 
Beak-tortured,  on  the  lone  Caucasian  crag, 
To  mock  him  with  the  never-changing  eye. 
Oh,  failing  heart!  how  all  dimensions,  all,  ' 
Have  shriveled  to  the  measure  of  thy  hope! 
This  life,  which  once  was  larger  than   all 

worlds, 


EURTLOCHUS   TRANSFORMED  43 

Now  looks  less  huge  than  the  marsh-gendered 

%'s, 

Whose  Lethean  past  and  infinite  to-come 
Are  rounded  in  one  little,  sunny  hour. 
The  gods  are  blessed,  knowing  they  endure; 
The  beasts  are  blest,  not  knowing  but  they 

last; 

But  man  is  cursed,  knowing  that  he  dies,  — 
Unhappy  beast,  striving  to  be  a  god! 

Oh,  for  the  life  dreamed  under  drowsy  boughs 
By  old  Silenus  and  his  careless  crew! 
With  happy  satyrs  clamoring  his  approach 
To  happier  fauns,  who,  hearing,  off  will  flee 


44  EURYLOCHUS   TRANSFORMED 

To  prop  the  tipsy  god,  what  time  he  nods 
Upon  his  dripping,  purple-stained  car, 
Half-holding,  in  one  lazy,  drooping  hand, 
The  leash  of  long-stemmed  flowers  wherewith 

he  guides, 

At  slumber-footed  pace,  the  flexile,  sleek, 
Indolent  leopards,  happiest  of  all! 

Nearer  the  kind  earth  better, nearest  best! 
To  snuff  the  savory  steam  of  upturned  soil, 
To  sally  with  the  low-browed  drove  at  dawn, 
Gurgling  or  jubilantly  trumpeting, 
To  where  the  sweet  night-fallen  acorns  hide 
Under  the  lush,  cool  grasses,  drenched  with 
dew! 


EUETLOCHUS  TRANSFORMED  45 

I  know  the  down-faced  posture;  now  I  feel 

The  low,  four-footed  firmness.     Let  me  go! 

The  glaring  lights  are  lost  in  grateful  gloom! 

And  now  I  scent  the  rain-washed  herbage; 
now 

The  welcome  shine  of  slumberous  pools  ap 
pears,  — 

The  oozy  beds  of  odorous  wallo wings  —  ugh ! 


THE  DEATH  OF  HELEN 

(Those  legends  which  made  Helen  the  daughter  of 
Zeus  also  asserted  that  the  latter  was  un 
willing  his  child  should  suffer  death.  His 
purpose  was  thwarted,  however,  by  certain 
intrigues  which  then  vexed  the  politics  of 
the  sky,  and  Helen  passed  to  Elysium,  not 
Olympus.) 

(Helen  speaks.) 

HERMIONE,  I  truly  think  that  Zeus, 
This  morning,   yielded  —  some  such  thing 
I  heard 

46 


THE  DEATH  OF  HELEN  47 

In  sleep  —  and  it  is  said  among  the  gods, 
Helen  to-day  will  die. 

Let  no  one  now 

Run  here  with  omens,  if  the  sky  turn  wings! 
Tell  Lycidas  I  shall  not  need  the  herb. 
But  pile  my  couch  with  purple  in  the  porch  - 
For    there    sleep    leads    me    to    the    truest 

dreams  — 

And  I  will  look  my  last  upon  the  sun 
O'er  valleyed  Lacedsemon. 

Bear  me  forth! 

For  why  should  one  the  care  of  gods,  the  awe 
Of  men  like  gods,  pass  like  a  sullen  slave, 


48  THE  DEATH  OF  HELEN 

Watched  by  a  leech  and  fended  from  the 

day? 
Sunlight  I  loved,  and  things  that  love  the 

sun, 

But  walls  and  glooms  I  loathe,  and  ever  did, 
More  than  the  grave! 

Enough.     Now  some  one  bid 
Antenor  not  to  gild  the  heifer's  horns; 
Then  let  all  go.     Why  should  I  pray  to  live? 
My  name  may  live  to  string  a  wandering 

harp, 

Swept  to  the  hoarse  chant  of  a  wintry  bard, 
My  loveliness  may  linger  in  a  song, 
But  I  may  be  no  more  the  one  I  was. 


THE  DEATH  OF  HELEN  49 

Nothing  is  any  longer  what  it  was. 
Last  time  I  rode  to  Aphrodite's  door 
I  was  gazed  on  by  pygmies  where  of  old 
Each  common  stone  of  the  thronged  stairs 

would  seem 

To  pedestal  a  god !     Girl,  wilt  thou  smile 
To  be  beloved  of  men,  as  men  are  now? 
Far  other  were  the  ones  I  served  that  night, 
When,  putting  on  a  slave's  disguise,  I  poured 
Their  wine  within  the  tent  of  truce.     Beside 
The  Scaean  gate  they  pitched  it,  and  the  foes 
Mingled  as  friends.     There  I  beheld,  between 
Hector  and  Troilus,  thy  father  dear; 
Yet  Menelaus  did  not  know  his  wife. 


50  THE  DEATH  OF  HELEN 

Here  sat  Achilles;  and  I  filled  the  cup 

For   all  —  but  his   most   slowly  —  all  save 

one: 

Odysseus,  only,  watched  me  with  side  looks. 
This  brooch  I  wore.     It  made  the  tunic  tight 
About  my  shoulder.     Suddenly  it  snapt 
And  gave  this  whole  arm  naked  to  his  eyes. 
He  scowled  at  both  Atrides.     I  —  I  came  — 
Not  back  to  pour  his  wine!  .  .  . 

Oh,  Paris!    Are  you  very  sure  the  dream 
Was  sent  by  Aphrodite?    Yet  how  dark 
The  waves  have  grown!    And  howsoe'er  we 
speed 


THE  DEATH  OF  HELEN  51 

The  foam's  white  fingers  always  point   us 

back. 
Sweet,  do  not  frown,  lest  Love,  too,  purse 

his  brow!  .  .  . 
Have  I  not  trusted  ?  .  .  . 

Kastor!    Kastor,  —  please!  .  .  . 
No,  Polydeukes;  never  will  I  bathe 
When  those  bright  fish  are  darting  in  the  pool! 
I'll  find  my  hollow  where    the  deep  green 

leaves 

Will  cover  me  all  over.     Could  you  hear 
Now  if  I  screamed?    A  fur-eared  faun  creeps 

up, 
Oft  times,  and  frightens  me  just  as  I  wake. 


52  THE  DEATH  OF  HELEN 

Oh,    Hermes!    Hermes!    I   am  glad.    See, 

now, 

My  feet  depress  the  daisies  less  than  thine! 
Is  the  way  long  unto  Elysium? 


AMONG  THE  GRECIAN   MARBLES 

HERE  lies  the  wreckage  of  old  heavens  up- 
thrown. 

This  the  wave  spared  to  poor  posterity  — 
So  much  of  all  that  golden  argosy 

Which  by  the  breath  of  the  young  dawn  was 
blown 

O'er  the  blue  laughing  waters  from  unknown 
Marges  of  light  and  immortality  — 
Spared  for  our  eyes  that  impotently  see, 

And  for  our  greeting,  which  is  but  a  groan. 

53 


54         AMONG   THE  GRECIAN  MARBLES 

Oh,  when  will  man  again  his  lax  loins  gird? 
When  will  he  leave  soft  Circe  and  her 

sty, 
Or  learn  to  labor  without  looking 

down? 

Thou,  thou,  my  country  —  in  a  dream  I  heard 
It  was  thy  sons  would  dare  the  old  sweet 

sky 

And  bring  back  beauty  for  the  earth 
to  crown. 


THE  VENUS  OF  MELOS 

He   ordered   that  the  young  women   should 
go    naked    in    the    processions. 

—  "Lycurgus,"  Plutarch's  Lives. 

Fair  creatures!   whose  young  children's  children 

bred 

Thermopylae  its  heroes  —  not  yet  dead 
But  in  old  marbles  ever  beautiful. 

—  KEATS,  Endymion. 
65 


56  THE  VENUS  OF  MELOS 

THOUGHTS  of  those  deathless  forms  thou  dost 

awake, 
That   unashamed   in   beauty   strode 

along 
Through  the  high  Spartan  street,  a 

naked  throng, 
Deep-wombed,  with  bosoms  fit  whereon  to 

take 
The  heads  of  hero  husbands,  or  to  make 

With  strenuous  milk  the  next-age  man 
hood  strong,  — 
Maidens     that     heard     unfeared     the 

Dorian  song, 
Mothers  of  might  the  battle  could  not  break. 


THE  VENUS  OF  MELOS  57 

0  Spartan  bride!  —  to  me  thou  seemest  so  — 
The     loveliness     of     mountain-heights 

thou  hast,  — 
As  near  to  heaven,  anchored  to   earth 

as  fast, 

And  yet  suffused  with  such  a  tender  glow 
As  turns  to  fire  their  pinnacles  of  snow 

When  rosy  evening  smiles  her  sweetest, 
last. 


ATHENS  AND  SPARTA 

ATHENS  reclined,  but  Sparta  sat, 

To  take  the  cup. 
Deliberating,  Athens  sat; 

Sparta  stood  up. 

In  speaking,  Athens  made  a  show 

Of  word  and  wit. 
Spartan  debate  was  Yes  and  No. 

That  settled  it. 

Athens,  when  all  was  vainly  fought, 

Fled  from  the  field. 
Sparta  brought  home,  or  else  was  brought 

Upon,  the  shield. 

68 


ATHENS  AND  SPARTA  59 

The  Attic  pen  was  wielded  well; 

The  world  has  read. 
What  Lacedsemon  had  to  tell, 

Her  right  arm  said. 

Something  the  Spartan  missed,  but  gained 

The  power  reserved 
That  lets  the  crown  pass  unobtained, 

Not  undeserved. 


THE  RETURN  TO  NATURE 

(ON    READING    WILLIAM    MORRIS*    POEM,    THE 
DEATH   OF    PARIS) 

I  MUSE  the  mournful  story  halfway  through : 
How,  in  the  lazy-leaguering  times  that 

wore 
Hard  on  Troy's  end,  one  day  was  dire 

uproar 

Where  Philoctetes'  fatal  arrow  flew; 
And  how,  next  morn  but  one,  the  garden  dew 
Was  brushed  by  feet  of  silent  shapes 
that  bore 

60 


THE  EETUEN  TO  NATURE  61 

The  wound-sick  man  out  of  the  palace 

door, 

Turning  towards  Ida  and  one  vale  he  knew  — 
But  there  I  shut  the  book,  nor  any  more 

Ponder  of  Paris,  but  ourselves,  whose 

grief 
Is  the  world's  arrow,  dipt  in  venom  sore: 

Like  him,  we  make  at  last  a  visit  brief 
To  Her  who  loved  us,  and  was  loved,  before, 

And  pray,  of  the  Implacable,  relief. 


KEATS 

("THE  TRUE  MARCELLUS  OF  ENGLISH  SONG") 

WHY  we  turn  a  drowsy  ear 

From  the  over-brimming  sweetness 

Of  the  music-burdened  year,  — 

Why  we  list  with  hand  a-hollow, 
Lean  to  catch  and  yearn  to  follow, 

Songs  that  half-bereave  us  here,  — 

Who  can  tell  us,  dear? 

Neither  may  I  tell  thee,  love, 
Why  this  hapless  singer  charms  me 
Every  happier  bard  above. 

62 


KEATS  63 

Lo,  each  other  told  his  story, 

Won  his  maiden,  wore  his  crown  — 
Death  in  both  hands  shut  the  glory 

Of  his  unfulfilled  renown. 


THE  BETROTHAL 

WHATSOEVER  vows  were  said, 
Never  thou  wert  woman- wed. 
Sunset-flushed  and  starry-eyed 
Waited  one  to  be  thy  bride. 
Ages  ere  thy  lisping  word 
All  thy  loving  songs  she  heard, 
All  thy  fond  behests  obeyed, 
All  her  charms  for  thee  arrayed. 
She  shall  take  thee  for  her  own, 
Thou  shalt  worship  her  alone: 
Beauteous  may  others  be  — 
Beauty,  soul  and  self,  is  she. 

64 


THE  MUSE  OF  PARADOX 

REACH  here  thy  hand  —  I  am  the  utmost 

star; 

Look,  and  I  am  the  darkness;  list  — 
Only  my  silences  are  audible: 
Fragrance  bewrayeth  me  by  lips  of  flowers 
Precipice-loving,  inaccessible : 
Pursue  me  —  I  will  be  the  lightning-spark; 
Or  dare  me  —  I  will  be  the  thunder-stone : 
Be  thou  the  fugitive  —  I  am  the  goal : 
Wilt  thou  be  old  and  die?     I  must  be  born; 
But  be  thou  born  —  then  I  am  he  that  died. 
Now  have  I  told  thee  plainly  who  I  am, 
So  shalt  thou  never  miss  me  when  we  meet. 

P  66 


OF   THE 

UNIVERSITY    | 

OF 


THE  REASON 

WHY  should  I  toil  with  thankless  care 
To  leave  a  work  of  beauty  rare? 
When  I  am  dead  the  flower  will  blow 
To  finer  shape  than  art  can  show; 
With  sweeter  songs  than  I  can  sing 
The  morning  wilderness  will  ring. 

But  did  the  blossom  or  the  bird 
Ask  ever  to  be  seen  or  heard? 
And  I,  if  unobserved  as  they, 
The  same  deep  impulse  must  obey. 


THE  SISTINE  MADONNA 

OTHER  madonnas  ever  seem  to  say, 

"My  soul  doth  magnify  the  Lord";  but 

she, 

Dove-like  in  sweetness  and  humility, 
Has  caught  the  words  of  wonder  day  by  day, 
And  kept  them  in  her  heart.     Look  as  we 

may, 

The  mother  is  yet  more  a  child  than  he 
Who  nestles  to  her.     In  his  eyes  we  see 
The  prophecy  of  lightnings  that  will  play 
About  the  temple  courts,  the  conqueror 

67 


68  THE  SISTINE  MADONNA 

Traveling    in     the    greatness    of    his 

strength,  - 
But    in    her    eyes   only   the  love 

unsleeping 

Wherewith,  all  times,  he  will  be  waited  for, 
Which,  as  the  cross  lets  down  its  load 

at  length, 

Will  take  her  babe  once  more  into 
her  keeping. 


THE  FAIRY  KERCHIEF 

So  filmy  I  could  almost  furl  it  up 

Inside  an  acorn-cup, 
Yet  now  I  spread  out  all  its  fairy  folds 

Green  earth,  starred  heaven,  it  holds, 
For   touching   this    I    touch   her   half-seen 
hand,  — 

Lady  of  Gloaming-land. 

I  hear  her  where  forgotten  music  pours 

Out  of  old  forest  doors; 
I  meet  her  where  the  feet  of  dreamland  go; 

But  oh,  I  do  not  know 
Whether  for  me  she  let  the  kerchief  fall, 

Or  sees  my  face  at  all! 


70  THE  FAIRY  KERCHIEF 

Faint  fragrance  of  a  nameless  flower  it  bears 

Only  our  lady  wears; 
Half-echoes  of  a  haunting  song  it  brings 

Only  our  lady  sings; 
And  when  on  day-blind  lids  it  softly  lies 

I  see  great  gloaming  eyes, 
Great  shadowy  nights  of  muse  and  mystery 
Where  I  would  give  all  golden  suns  to  see 

One  little  star  for  me! 


ON  A  PICTURE 

I  THANK  the  painter  whom  this  autumn  scene 
Held  like  enchantment  till  his  brush 

obeyed 
And  touch  by  burning  touch  the  charm 

conveyed 

To  his  cold  canvas.     Lazily  between 
Its   gorgeous   banks   in   that   all-mellowing 

sheen 

The  slow  stream  spreads.     The  cattle 
unafraid 

71 


72  ON  A  PICTURE 

Drink.     On  the  bridge  above  the  boy 

and  maid 

Through  never-interrupted  musings  lean. 
It  is  my  own  lost  youth  he  painted  there. 
So    swelled    one    radiant    autumn-tide 

around; 
So  stood  the   sun  in  golden  haze 

above. 

And  as  I  look  the  old-time  sweet  and  rare 
Comes  back  and  fills  the  world  without 

a  sound, 

And  love  returns,  and  the  first  kiss 
of  love. 


BEHOLD   THE   DAY 

(January  1,  1901) 
BEHOLD  the  day  The  Lord  sends  down,  — 

his  dearest, 

Most  beautiful  of  all  about  his  throne, 
With  azure  eyes  the  sweetest  and  severest, 
Far-flaming  sword  and  silver  wings  far- 
flown! 
His  naked  foot  is  on  the  mountain  nearest, 

His  golden  trumpet  to  his  lips  upthrown; 
And  for  thine  ears,  0  world,  if  thou   but 
hearest, 

73 


74  BEHOLD   THE  DAT 

The  summons  of  the  century  is  blown : 
"  The  word  of  truth  that  shaketh  all  foun 
dations, 

The  word  of  love  that  maketh  all  its  own, 

The  word  of  beauty,  crown  of  all  creations  — 

These  shalt  thou  hear  and  heed  and  these 

alone. 
Love,  Truth,  and  Beauty  —  for  all  tribes  and 

nations 

Be  these  the  names  whereby  our  God  is 
known!" 


LOVE  RESURGENT 

"My  love  no  longer  loves  me  —  let  me  die! 

The  glory  is  gone  out,  upon  the  hills, 

And  the  gray  downfall  of  its  ashes  fills 
The  old  bright  places  of  the  earth  and  sky. 
Why  should  I  wander  up  and  down  and  cry 

To  every  ghost  of  joy  whose  presence 
thrills 

The  heart  of  sorrow  till  his  cup  o'er- 

spills? 
I  will  lie  down  upon  my  face  and  die." 

75 


76  LOVE  RESURGENT 

One  bent  above  him  with  resplendent  wing: 
"'Twas  not  her  love  for  thee  set  earth 

aglow; 
'Twas  thine  own  love  for  her  — 

that  still  is  thine." 

Joy  sent  him  like  an  arrow  from  the  string: 
"  Show  me  the  rough  ways  where  her  feet 

must  go  - 
I  never  loved  before,  0  Love  divine ! " 


LOVE'S  TESTAMENT 

(ON  A  MIRROR) 
IF  you  shall  kneel  some  day  at  this  clear 

shrine 

And  find  no  comfort  in  its  oracle, 
And  think  how  sweetly  the  responses  fell 
In  days  when  life  was  dear  and  love  divine; 
If  you  shall  read  its  record,  line  by  line, 
Of  all  the  fluent  years  have  had  to  tell, 
And  muse  of  one  who  keeps  the  silence 
well, 

77 


78  LOVE'S   TESTAMENT 

Then  you  shall  take  to  heart  this  word  of 
mine: 

The  years  rob  not  your  sweet  brow  of  its  grace; 
If  with  their  libels  it  were  all  o'erwrit 

I  would  believe  no  word  their  fingers  trace; 

And  if  God  said,  "Thou  shall  remould  her  face 
And  fashion  all  as  love  shall  find  more  fit" 
I  would  not  change  one  dear,  odd  way  in  it. 


GUINEVERE'S  DEFENCE 

WE  did  not  seek  out  love, 
But  us,  oh,  us!  he  sought. 

The  falcon  with  the  dove 

Worketh  the  way  he  wrought, 

He  fetched  no  dainty  fare; 

He  gave  us  gall  to  drink, 
And,  round  our  shoulders  bare, 

The  Nessus  robe  to  shrink. 

We  saw  this  love  appear 

Like  God  upon  his  throne, 

Guiding  his  winged  sphere 
Along  the  heaven  alone. 

79 


80  GUINEVERE'S  DEFENCE 

We  did  not  kiss  his  wand, 

Nor  call  his  coming  sweet. 

He  smote  us  with  his  hand, 
He  trode  us  with  his  feet. 

And  when  we  sent  our  shrill 
Cry  to  the  ears  above, 

He  only  said,  "Be  still, 

And  know  that  I  am  love!" 


SEPTEMBER  IN  THE  NORTH 

O  LOVE,  do  you  remember, 

When  you  and  I  were  wed, 
That  sun  —  a  golden  ember  - 

Those  hills  —  a  regal  red? 
It  was  not  old  November 

With  ashes  on  her  head; 
It  was  not  cold  December 

In  mantle  dun  and  lead: 
'Twas  burning,  bold  September, 
'Twas  gorgeous,  gold  September, 
'Twas  scarlet-stoled  September 

When  you  and  I  were  wed. 

G  81 


82  SEPTEMBER  IN  THE  NORTH 

It  was  not  April  heaping 

The  snowdrops  on  her  head; 
It  was  not  summer  sleeping 

With  poppies  round  her  bed; 
It  was  not  winter  faring 

With  slow  and  sullen  tread, 
For  ball  and  sceptre  bearing 

A  withered  staff  instead; 
'Twas  golden-globed  September, 
Sceptred  and  globed  September, 
Twas  royal-robed  September 

When  you  and  I  were  wed. 


SEPTEMBER  IN  THE  NOETR  83 

'Twas  not  Love's  hour  of  roses: 

They  faded  ere  he  fled 
From  sun-forsaken  closes, 

Where  all  his  dreams  lay  dead, 
With  mantle  frayed  and  flying 

And  wounded  wings  outspread, 
To  his  own  kingdom  lying 

Guerdoned  and  garlanded. 
'Twas  glory-rolled  September,  — 
Fold-upon-fold  September, 
Purple  and  gold  September, 

When  you  and  I  were  wed. 


84  SEPTEMBER  IN  THE  NORTH 

Ah,  sweet,  do  you  remember? 

We  lauded  Love  and  said: 
"Now  June  and  not  December 

Be  counted  drear  and  dread: 
Love  kept  his  daffodillies 

Till  all  their  gold  was  dead; 
He  slept  among  his  lilies 

Till  all  their  gold  was  shed: 
But  then  he  gave  September, 
The  bright  and  brave  September, 
And  now,  God  save  September, 

When  you  and  I  are  wed!" 


OF  PETRARCH 

(TWO  THOUGHTS) 

I 

WAS  Laura's  loveliness,  to  all  save  one, 
But  a  fair  chalice,  empty  of  delight, 

Only  a  frozen  miracle  of  art, 
Till  Petrarch  held  it  upward  in  the  sun 

Where  every  winsome  curve  swam  into 

sight, 

And  brimmed  it  with  the  warm  wine 
of  his  heart? 

85 


86  OF  PETRARCH 

II 

Reading  on  Petrarch's  page  his  Laura's  life, 
The  charmed  Fame  lifts  not  her  eyes  to 

ask 

What  petty  nobleman  had  her  to  wife,  — 
What  jeweled  hand  held  hers  through 

that  night's  masque: 
The  night  is  gone;   it  is  the  poet's 

day; 

Smiling  he  leads  his  bride  immor 
tally  away. 


DISMISSING  THE  MUSE 

IF  we  plighted  a  tryst,  the  goddess  and  I, 
Then  mistress  the  soot-face  was  sure  to  be 

there; 
If  my  sleeves  were  turned  up,  the  muse  would 

stroll  by 
Persistently  humming  my  favorite  air. 

So  I  fashioned  a  temple  of  light  for  the  muse, 
And  implored  her  to  leave  her  low  rival 

alone; 

And  I  found  her  a  stithy  as  black  as  her  shoes, 
And  gave  the  drudge  orders  to  keep  to 
her  own. 

87 


88  DISMISSING   THE  MUSE 

Now  the  slave  goes  up  in  her  smoky  frock 
And  fills  all  the  fane  with  the  clatter  of 
tools, 

And  the  goddess  will  perch  on  the  anvil-block 
Till  the  fire  goes  out  and  the  iron  cools. 

It  is  plain  that  one  of  you  two  must  go : 
Not  you,  dark  maid,  with  averted  eyes 

And  breast  half-naked  to  free  the  blow, 

Lest  you  prove,  as  I  fear  you,  a  god  in 
disguise. 

But  you,  you  other,  with  lips  aflame 

And  eyelids  bright  with  the  day  of  day, 

Shame  of  my  pride  and  pride  in  my  shame, 
Divinely  perverse  —  Yet  stay!  oh,  stay! 


THE    SONG    OF    THE    FATES 

(TO  E.  s.) 

THOU  to  whom,  by  presage  strong. 
All  the  future's  gifts  belong, 
Take  thy  first  of  gifts  —  a  song, 

Whosoe'er  shall  sing  for  thee 
When  they  set  the  cypress-tree,  — 
Take  a  birth-song  now  from  me. 

Musing  here,  a  moment  gone, 
While  unseen  the  hearth-light  shone, 

89 


90  THE  SONG  OF  THE  FATES 

While  unseen  the  flaming  day 
Fell  to  ashes  cold  and  gray, 
I  have  heard  their  spindle's  drone  — 
Adamantine  monotone  — 
To  whose  cadence,  chorusing, 
Stars  of  eve  and  morning  sing,  — 
Overheard  their  muttered  strain 
Spinning  slow  thy  fragile  skein, 
While  their  pauses,  hushed  and  dread, 
Hope  and  fear  interpreted. 

The  Chant 

Long  began  our  spindle's  sound 
Ere  the  spool  for  thee  was  wound; 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  FATES  91 

Long  again  its  sound  shall  be 
Ere  'tis  wound  again  for  thee; 
Evermore  the  threads  begin  — 
Nevermore  for  thee  we  spin. 
Yet  before  eternal  heaven 
Unto  thee  this  thread  was  given: 
All  the  gods  of  craft  and  power 
Could  not  thwart  thee  of  thine  hour. 

Lower,  sisters,  low  and  slow 
Let  the  words  unerring  flow: 
He  shall  go  the  way  of  all 
Where  the  fates,  like  chances,  fall; 
He  must  seem  his  path  to  choose 
Where  his  feet  cannot  refuse. 


92  THE  SONG  OF  THE  FATES 

Closer,  sisters,  bend  the  head, 
Slow  and  slower  lead  the  thread. 
Though  betwixt  our  fingers  run 
Strands  that  may  not  be  unspun, 
Never,  sisters,  let  him  name 
You  and  me  to  bless  or  blame: 
If  his  life  as  heaven  be  glad, 
From  himself  that  heaven  he  had: 
If  his  soul  be  bound  to  pain, 
'Twas  his  soul  that  forged  the  chain; 
For  the  thread  we  spin  partakes, 
Making,  of  the  power  that  makes, 
Humming  through  our  solemn  chant 
With  the  droning  adamant, 


THE  SONG   OF  THE  FATES  93 

Giving  voice  with  all  our  three 
To  confirm  the  destiny. 

Now  no  cadence  of  our  song 
In  his  ears  may  linger  long, 
Yet  he  shall  not  shrink  to  do 
All  the  strain  hath  bound  him  to : 
The  soul  itself  has  doomed  its  state, 
And  fate  is  equal  to  its  fate. 


CONSULTING  THE  DAISY 

(He  loves  me  —  loves  me  not) 
I  WONDER  if  my  lover  loves  me  still. 

I  know  he  loved  me  madly  yester-eve; 
His  morning  missive  says  I  must  believe; 
He  threw  a  kiss  back  as  he  crossed  the  hill  — 
But  oh,  such  things  may  happen  in  an  hour! 
Ah,  does  he  love  me  now?    Tell  me,  you 
Delphic  flower. 


94 


SEPTEMBER  THE  ELEVENTH 

1889 
THE  child  of  man,  blind  offspring  of  the 

all-foreseeing  past, 
Of  anguished  birth  and  dubious  doom,  is 

here. 

Joy  now!  with  grief  hereafter  at  the  grave  - 
If  death  be  not  the  gods'  last,  perfect  gift, 
Borne  like  their  first  between  the  knees  of 

pain. 

95 


INSCRIPTION    FOR    A   FIREPLACE 

PROMETHEUS,  Epimetheus  —  both  are  we, 
For  looking  in  the  fire  we  seem  to  see 
The  things  that  have  been  and  the  things  to 
be. 

VIM  HABUIT  DEMOSTHENES 
THEY  say  you  had  great  vim.     We  cannot 

doubt  it. 

Who  could  say  such  heroic  things  without  it? 
There  was  that  other  story  —  pardon  me  — 

ah  — 
But  did  you  show  your  heels  at  Chaeronea? 

96 


PAOLO  AND  FRANCESCA 

THESE   hearts,    two   torches   that   together 

came 
In  God's  firm  hand,  burst  into  one  bright 

flame. 
Which  will  you  blame  —  the  brands  to  ashes 

turned, 
Or  the  great  Hand  that  held  them  while  they 

burned? 


BESIDE  THE  MARK 

WHO  cares  how  well  the  bow  is  strung, 
How  finely  wrought  in  every  part, 

If,  when  the  silver  cord  has  rung, 

The  arrow  has  not  reached  the  heart? 


98 


"BEYOND   THE   SUNSET " 

(j.  C.  R.  D.) 

Singer,  whose  brow  the  god  of  song  has 

bound 
With  whitest  fillets,  and  whose  proud 

attire 

Proclaims  thee  of  the  purple-vestured 
choir 

That  filled  our  younger  day  with  golden 
sound,  — 

Thou  that  with  brighter  garlands  hast  en- 
wound 

99 


100  BEYOND   THE  SUNSET 

Thy  seaward  prow,  and  with  thy  morn 
ing  lyre 
Charmest  the  waves  beyond  the  sunset 

fire, — 
Tis  not  for  me  to  crown  thee:    thou  art 

crowned. 
And  sweeter  lips  will  greet  thee  from  the 

shore 
Whereto  thou   sailest,    for  the   happy 

strand 

Will  be  more  happy  when  thy  sail 
is  seen  — 


BEYOND   THE  SUNSET  101 

Lo  where  she  comes !  still  wearing  as  she  wore 
Her  singing  robes — the  roses  in  her  hand  — 
And  rising,   in  her  coming,  like  a 
queen. 


MENS  JUDEX 

HIGH  on  her  single-seated  judgment  throne, 
With  forward-gazing  eyes,  girded,  erect, 
Sits   the  wide-browed,   undaunted   In 
tellect 
Resolving  her  own  doubt.    Love,  making 

moan, 
Clings  round  her  neck;  and  reaching  to  her 

zone 

Pale  Pity  kneels;  and,  striving  to  deflect 
Her  forthright  vision,  Falsehood  stands 
bedecked; 

102 


MENS  JUDEX  103 

Blind  Rumor's  trumpet  in  her  ear  is  blown, 
And    with    raised    hand    white    Vengeance 

whispers,  "Slay!" 

Unmoved  she  sits  till  Falsehood  glides  away, 
Rumor  lets  fall   his  trump,  Vengeance 

his  stone, 
And  Love  and  Pity  turn  aside  to  pray, 

Then,  calling  back  her  angels,  heaven 
ward  flown  — 

Justice   and   Truth  —  listens   to   these 
alone. 


NEW  YORK 

0  TITAN  daughter  crouching  by  the  sea, 

Playing  with  ships  and  channeling  the 
sands 

And  gathering  evermore  in  eager  hands 
Poor  shells  and  pebbles  for  thy  jewelry, 
Unheedful  how  the  nations  swarm  to  thee 

From    all    the    shallows    of    distressful 
lands,  — 

More  busy  braiding  weeds  in  idle  bands 
Than  mothering  the  millions  at  thy  knee,  — 
Oh,  when  thy  destiny  shall  bid  thee  rise, 

104 


NEW  YORK  105 

And  thy  god-heart  with  love  of  man  shall 

burn, 
How  towards  thy  feet  the  human  tides 

will  yearn, 

While  all  the  muses  waken  in  thine  eyes, 
And  floods  of  blessing  leave  thy  lifted 

urn 
As  April  mornings  overflow  the  skies! 


VIXIMUS 

OH,  love,  the  song  is  vain  and  all  is  vain  — 
Vain  as  long  days  when  death  is  drawing 

near! 
Yet  we  who  love  between  a  smile  and 

tear 
Loving  have  lived  if  none  may  live  again. 


106 


LOVE  ROYAL 

YOUE  face,  my  lady,  in  its  flowery  prime, 
A  fair  sweet  kingdom,  owned  me  for  its 

king. 

Do  monarchs  hold  their  realms  in  winter 
time 
Less  dear  than  in  the  spring? 


107 


GLORIA  VICTIS 

LET  the  song  cease  and  him  who  sang  depart, 
Singer  and  song  have  found  enough  of 

praise; 
The  tale  was  all  for  one  and  touched  her 

heart; 
He  only  sang  to  one  and  wore  her  bays. 

Bear  the  dead  knight  in  triumph  though 
o'er  thrown; 

108 


GLOEIA    VICTI8  109 

The  herald,   who   proclaims  him  con 
quered,  lies; 
He  jousted  for  his  queen's  delight  alone, 

And  she  looked  on  him  with  acclaiming 
eyes. 

Let  the  pale  martyr  bleed;  he  but  obeyed 
The  unrelenting  conscience's  behest. 

Of  her,  not  of  the  world,  he  walked  afraid, 
And  when  he  gave  her  all  she  gave  him 
rest. 


THE  FORECAST 

WHAT  losses  and  crosses 

Our  coming  dawns  may  bring, 
What  stories,  what  glories, 

Our  setting  suns  may  sing  — 
Be  still!  'tis  not  for  men  to  say 

What  shape  the  gods  may  wear; 
'Tis  ours  to  greet  them  day  by  day 

And  take  the  gifts  they  bear. 


no 


F.   S.   S. 

IN  the  strange  heaven  of  my  distracted  soul 
The  sun's  red  largess  falls  now  east,  now 

west; 

Star  after  star  rises  and  goes  to  rest 
In  burning  beauty;  from  vast  goal  to  goal 
The  stately  constellations  poise  and  roll; 
The  sweet,  sad  moon  veils  and  unveils 

her  breast, 

Luring  her  lover  on  a  far,  foiled  quest  — 
Not  such  art  thou,  my  pure  star  of  the  pole! 
in 


112  F.    S.    S. 

Nought    knowest    thou    of    change.    Thou 

risest  not, 

Nor  goest  to  thy  setting.     Never  thou, 
Waxing  and  waning,  growest  dim  or 

bright. 

But,  with  calm,  equal  splendor  ever  fraught, 
Thou  shinest  ever  where  thou  shinest 

now, 

To  give  my  soul  safe-conduct  in  its 
night. 

October,  1909. 


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reckoned  with  in  modern  poetry."  —  New  York  Herald. 

BY  MRS.  ELLA  HIGGINSON 
When  the  Birds  Go  North  Again 

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"The  poetry  of  the  volume  is  good,  and  its  rare  setting,  amid  the 
scenes  and  under  the  light  of  a  sunset  land,  will  constitute  an  at 
tractive  charm  to  many  readers."  —  The  Boston  Transcript. 

The  Voice  of  April-land  and 

Other  Poems  cioth,  i2mo,  $f^  net 


The  Chicago  Tribune  says  that  Mrs.  Higginson  in  her  verse,  as  in 
her  prose,  "  has  voiced  the  elusive  bewitchment  of  the  West." 


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A  PARTIAL  LIST  OF  THE 


GOLDEN  TREASURY  SERIES 

Edited  by  F.  T.  PALGRAVE 

Cloth          i6mo          Each,  $1.00  net 


Addison,  John.    Essays. 

Arnold,  Matthew.     Poems. 

Autocrat  of  the  Breakfast  Table. 

Bacon,  Sir  Francis.     Essays. 

Ballad  Book. 

Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

Book  of  Worthies. 

Byron,  Lord.     Poems. 

Campbell,  Thomas.     Poems. 

Children's  Garland. 

Children's  Treasury    of    Lyrical 

Poems. 

Epictetus,  Golden  Sayings  of. 
Golden  Treasury  Psalter. 
House  of  Atreus.     By  ^Eschylus. 
Jest  Book.    By  Mark  Lemon. 
Keats,  John.    Poems. 
Landor,  W.  S.     Poems. 
London  Lyrics. 
Lyric  Love. 
Marcus    Aurelius    Antoninus, 

Thoughts  of. 
Miscellanies.    By  E.  Fitzgerald. 


Moore,  Thomas.    Poems. 
Pilgrim's  Progress.    By  John  Bun- 

yan. 

Religio  Medici.    By  Sir  T.  Browne. 
Robinson  Crusoe.    By  D.  Defoe. 
Rossetti,  C.     Poems. 
Rubaiyat  of  Omar  Khayyam. 
Shakespeare,  W.     Songs  and  Son 
nets. 

Shelley,  P.  B.    Poems. 
Southey,  R.     Poems. 
Tales    from    Shakespeare.     By    C. 

Lamb. 
Tennyson,  Lord  Alfred. 

Idylls  of  the  King. 

In  Memoriam. 

Lyrical  Poems. 

The  Princess. 
Theologica  Germanica. 
Tom  Brown's  School  Days.    By  T. 

Hughes. 

Trial  and  Death  of  Socrates. 
Wordsworth.    Poems. 


The  Golden  Treasury  of  the  Best  Songs  and  Lyrical  Poems  in  the  English 
Language.    Two  volumes  in  one,  $  1.50. 


A  Complete  Catalogue  of  this  Series  sent  on  Request 


The  Macmillan  Company,    Publishers,    New    York 
^ 


OF  THE 

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THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
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